


...and work your way up

by lullabelle



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Bondage, Community: torchwood_fest, Dom/sub Play, Impact Play, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lullabelle/pseuds/lullabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jack knows a secret, Gwen has her own ways of coping, and Ianto is different things to different people. Torchwood is complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...and work your way up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for torchwood_fest. Prompt from teamharkness has been lost to the sands of time. Beta'd by heddychaa.

The bit in Gwen’s mouth is cold and metal and tastes like pennies. She’s pretty sure that these days the part that goes in your mouth is covered with latex or something, but this one is bare shiny and unyielding in her mouth. She’s glad she has good teeth. Something about the taste of it makes her salivate like crazy.

Of course, there’s always a certain danger to using items deposited by the rift, even supposedly harmless ones like these. This, um, _bondage gear_ fell through in the 80’s, according to their file, and had remained mostly untouched until she and Ianto... stumbled across them. There’s even the possibility that they weren’t originally meant for human use. Oh, well, they suit her purposes just fine. And she’s up-to-date on her tetanus shots.

Behind her, she feels Ianto run the flat of the paddle up her leg, pulling her out of her own head. He drags it from the spreader bar at her ankle, all the way to the firm curve of her exposed arse, giving it a gentle swat.

Gwen’s breath catches in anticipation of more.

“Twenty, I think,” Ianto says, conversationally. “For your performance today.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Gwen knows he doesn’t like doing this, punishing her for the mistakes she makes in the field, but she’d asked him for this before they’d entered the room and their dynamic changed. Ianto doesn’t like to punish her for things that matter beyond a broken coffee mug or flirting with Jack, but he understands. He understands what it’s like to need penance for those things you didn’t necessarily have control over, but _should_ have.

Ianto always does exactly as she needs.

“You don’t have to count,” Ianto says, letting one hand dip between her legs. She’s ridiculously wet. “You look gorgeous drooling around that gag. You’re going to look even prettier with my cock in your mouth." He pulls his hand away, takes up the paddle again. "Let me hear your safety.”

Gwen lets out four, rhythmic, high-pitched squeaks.

“Good,” Ianto says, and brings the paddle down hard.

***

When Ianto shows up for work on Monday, Jack is waiting at his work station for him, looking smug. That always sets off alarm bells in Ianto's head, Jack looking smug. “I stumbled across something interesting on the CCTV yesterday,” Jack says lightly, tapping a couple of keys on the keyboard.

The image Jack pulls up is familiar to Ianto. It’s the room, the one downstairs, his and Gwen’s. Ianto feels all the blood drain away from his face. Gwen is kneeling on the table, facing away from the camera. He fights the urge to cover her image with his hand -- she'd exposed herself that way to _him_ , not Jack -- but there would be no point. Jack’s obviously already seen it, and he seems more interested in Ianto’s reaction than the screen anyway.

“Hey,” Jack says gently, Ianto does his best to force the expression of terror off his face. “I’m not mad. I’m just a little concerned. You and Gwen... having this kind of relationship. There's the possibility of... complications.”

Ianto gives a tight, strained smile. “This is Torchwood, Jack. Everything is complicated.” He turns back to the screen. On it, he’s stroking Gwen’s hair, his mouth moving soundlessly as he speaks to her. The neat pile of Gwen’s clothing that usually sits in one corner of the room is missing, which means this must have been the first time. That had been the day he’d found Gwen hunting in the archives dressed in nothing but a towel, after a weevil had puked on her last change of clothing. Gwen had known there were some clothes in the archives, items that had either fallen through the rift or had been left by former Torchwood employees when they... expired. And that was when they’d found the box with the paddle and the boots, and the other items, and Gwen had made the confession that she had certain... _needs_ that Rhys either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help her with. And Ianto had made her an offer.

And now he's here.

Jack is still watching him intently, and all the blood that had rushed from his face a moment ago comes rushing back.

“Ianto...” Jack says, and sighs. He reaches up to smooth the back of his fingers across Ianto’s cheek. “If there’s something in our relationship that's missing for you, all you--"

“No!” Ianto interrupts and jerks away. “What we have is perfect.” And now he’s _really_ blushing. “What I mean to say is, I have everything I need. Here, with you. What happens there,” he gestures at the screen, “that’s about what Gwen needs. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but it’s separate from... this. Us."

Jack nods. On the screen, Ianto is raining hard, open-palmed blows down on Gwen’s backside. Jack turns the monitor off. “Speaking of,” he says. “It’s obviously been too long since our last session if you think you can keep something like this from me.” Jack lets that declaration hang ominously in the air between them, and Ianto swallows thickly, feels his cock twitch. Jack reaches out to cup the back of Ianto’s head possessively, fingers threading into his hair, pulling just a bit. “I’m going to let it go this time, but keep a secret like this again and there will be consequences.” He pulls his hand away and takes a step back. “Go get the wristcuffs, and whichever toy you want me to use. Not the paddle; I want you to really feel this.”

Not the paddle. That leaves the cane or the whip. Ianto shudders, a thrill of desire shooting through him. “Yes, Sir,” he says.

***

Ianto’s palm is sore when he finally stops. Gwen’s breathing is a series of ragged gasps and whimpers, her face tearstreaked, and her arse vibrant red. He takes all this in as he walks around the table on which she’s on all-fours, on display. Ianto is at once flattered and a little afraid of the level of trust she has in him.

Gwen’s thighs are drenched from her leaking pussy.

The next move he should make is obvious, but he hesitates.

This is all new to him -- well, not _all_ , but Gwen, and being on this side of the equation; that's new. And it happened so fast, they haven't really discussed boundaries, but... well, the whole thing is sexual by nature, as his rock-hard erection keeps reminding him. Surely he has implied permission to get her off? Now doesn’t seem like the time to ask, so he just says, “Remember your safe word,” puts his mouth between her legs. He starts with one broad swipe of his tongue, inartful, tasting. It’s been a while since he’s done this.

Gwen gives a low moan and falls forward onto her elbows, allowing him easier access.

He’s pleased to discover that eating out a woman is a lot like riding a bike. Once you learn... And Gwen’s so ready for it, it takes very little to push her over. She comes, shaking, with a wail. Ianto, who has been very hard for a very long time now, adjusts himself in his trousers as he stands.

“Good,” he tells Gwen, simply. He feels like maybe he should elaborate, but he's not quite there yet. But he could be. He can be... dominant. He’ll work on it. “You can get up.”

Gwen moves slowly, stiffly. Her knees are red from kneeling on the hard wooden tabletop, and he wonders if that added discomfort works for her, or if he should get a pad or something for next time. Next time.

Yeah, there'll definitely be a next time.

Gwen sits gingerly on the edge of the table, wincing a little, and rolls the stiffness out of her shoulders. She gestures at the obvious erection straining at the zipper of his pants. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?” she asks, trying for demure and not quite managing it.

He considers. So far this hasn’t been about him. He’s not sure whether that makes things easier or not. No, that's not really true; he does know. He knows that distance is always easier, but not always better. “Would that complicate things?” he asks.

She shrugs. “We’re Torchwood. Everything is complicated,” she says, and reaches for his zip.

He nods his assent. “Fine,” he says, and smirks. “But this is the last time you touch me without permission. Next time there will be consequences.”

She offers a small smile, barely seen through the fringe of her hair, and says, “Yes, Sir.”


End file.
